


All Hallow's Eve

by fajrdrako



Category: Hornblower (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-19
Updated: 2012-01-19
Packaged: 2017-10-29 19:18:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/323235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fajrdrako/pseuds/fajrdrako
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Troubled by disturbing desires, Captain Pellew gets advice from a ghost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Hallow's Eve

**Author's Note:**

> Set after "The Duel", when Horatio is on the _Indefatigable_ , but early in the series. With thanks to [gem225](http://gem225.livejournal.com/) for beta-reading. For added visual reference, here is [a portrait of Philemon Pownall](http://www.art-prints-on-demand.com/kunst/sir_joshua_reynolds/capt_philemon.jpg).

It was a blustery night, the weather changing so fast that each turn of the glass brought new conditions. The Indefatigable rode like a dancer, as if the waves couldn't touch her, her men so intricately trained that she seemed to master the elements supernaturally.

Captain Pellew had finished his log and had written a few necessary letters. He rose and paced the room, finally stopping to stand looking out the stern windows, where a large harvest moon shone orange across the waves. Moonlight glittered on the white-caps. It was beautiful, but Pellew shivered at the sight. He felt restless and uneasy. It was All Hallow's Eve.

When he turned, there was a man sitting in his chair.

"Captain!" said Pellew, startled. Philemon Pownall had been dead for sixteen years. Pellew had known him and served with him only a short time, but Pownall had changed his life, and shaped its direction. He had learned more from Pownall than from any other man. It was Pownall's death in battle that had brought Pellew his own first command.

Captain Pownall looked at him now with the warm, challenging glance he had always used with this particular acolyte and said, "Troubled, Ned?"

"Somewhat," said Pellew awkwardly.

"As usual. Need to talk, boy?"

"With a dead man?"

Pownall looked around the room at the high ceilings, the wide polished table, the pewter candlesticks, the oak bookcase. "Don't see anyone else here. You'll have to settle for me. Don't worry, I think I'm as sharp as I ever was."

"Heaven help us," said Pellew, and couldn't help smiling. Sixteen years of death hadn't changed Captain Pownall in the least. Pellew sat in the nearest chair, staring rather rudely at Pownall's chest. "What happened to your wounds?" he asked.

"Eh? What wounds?"

"The ones that killed you. Last time I saw you . . . ."

"Ugly things. Didn't want to keep them." Pownall's tone was sharp, but he added in a gentler tone, "You held me as I died, didn't you? Then you went and saved the ship. Much obliged. Your heart was good, Ned. Always was. Still is. Don't hate yourself for what you feel."

Pellew frowned, defensive. "What do you know of what I feel, sir?"

Pownall shook his head and laughed. Sixteen years ago, Pellew had felt enormous respect for his maturity. Now, he seemed no older than Pellew himself.

"Are you are afraid that I know your secret, the one you tell no one? I'm dead, so you don't need to worry about it. Oh, yes, I know what it is. You've gone and fallen in love with that scapegrace Hornblower."

Pellew could not lie to Pownall; never had been able to, though he'd tried a time or two. "Yes," he said, and looked away. "How does it happen, sir? I never meant for it to happen. And yet - "

"And yet, there it is," said Pownall. "Ashamed, are you?"

"It is improper," said Pellew.

"First time you've been in love?"

"First time I've felt like this - and been unable to control it."

"Control?" barked Pownall. "God in heaven, Ned, think with your brain! Love isn't about control. No wonder you locked your heart away. Control! You've been listening to the preachers again, have you?"

"Hardly," said Pellew, and flushed.

"Then you're remembering your father, eh? Sunday prayers for salvation, and the whole family on their knees? I'm sure he was a fine man and I'm sure he meant well, but tell me Ned, did you love him for it?"

"I hardly remember him," said Pellew. "You were the one who gave me the guidance a parent should. It was you I loved as a father."

"I taught you to think for yourself," said Pownall. "Not that you needed it. I taught you to do what needed to be done, without letting fear get in the way. Showed you what you could become. Seeing this fine room, I imagine you took my lessons to heart. You've been successful, have you? Captain of a fine frigate? Prize money too, I wager."

"I'm not likely to starve," said Pellew. "I was knighted by the King himself - and I earned it. Took a French ship called the Cleopatre, back in '93. Out-manned and out-gunned and they said it couldn't be done, but it turned the war around. England had been losing, our armies defeated, our morale in a sorry state. And now - "

"And now we rule the waves. Just as it should be. Proud of you, boy."

"The Admiralty might not see it entirely as my doing."

"Admiralty be damned: you'll show them a thing or two before you're done, and join them too one of these days, mark my words. But not before you settle the matter of young Hornblower."

Pellew got up to pace again. He felt as if sixteen years had fallen away; he a young officer, as young as Horatio now was, and Pownall a frigate Captain, throwing words thrown back and forth between them, changing his life. "What's to settle? The situation is impossible."

"Didn't I teach you not to use that word? Listen, Ned - wasn't it impossible for you to capture the _Cleopatre_? Just as it was impossible once upon a time for a scruffy runaway from Cornwall to find his way onto a ship. Same way it's impossible for a man who was shot on his own quarterdeck sixteen years ago to sit in your cabin and talk to you now. Impossible? Find another excuse, boy, that one doesn't work with me."

"Excuse?" Pellew frowned sharply. "Sir, this is not - - it's his life as well as mine. I might destroy his future."

"Aye, it's his life, all right. So he ought to have the choice of what to do with it. Don't make his decisions for him. Are you afraid he doesn't want you?"

"He. . . when it comes to matters of love, he is an innocent."

"Well, that's easily changed!" snapped Pownall. "Talk to him. Is he shy? All the more reason. Are you afraid of the church?"

"No."

"The law?"

"No."

"Society?"

"Good Lord! Not at all."

"Afraid he'll reject you, then?"

Pellew turned, his hands behind his back, and looked at the moon over the water. "No. Not even that."

"Well, then, what's stopping you?"

"I fear to hurt him. He admires me; respects me. That gives me power over him. Bad enough that I'm his Captain, his superior officer. I control his life. Dare I ask for his heart?"

"Don't mince words with me, Ned. You already have his heart. You know that. It isn't the heart that you want to get your hands on. It's his body that presents the problem, isn't it?"

"His body," repeated Pellew, turning back. "Yes, sir, as usual, the core of the matter . . . I assure you, it is a very beautiful body."

"You love him. He is alone, probably believes himself unloved. Think, Ned. You want him to turn to some pretty-faced girl who'd begrudge him the sea? You're trying to protect him from pain. Isn't that the same as withholding happiness?"

"Happiness?"

"You might have heard of the concept. You've been pursuing success - to what end? Go for happiness, man. Happiness for both of you, maybe. Does that frighten you?"

Pellew looked searchingly at the ghost. "Sir. Did you ever love. . . unwisely?"

Pownall took a deep breath, as if he were a living man. "Good question, Ned. Maybe you've learned a thing or two in sixteen years. Yes, I did. I loved - but I did nothing, said nothing. Then one day it was too late. Death is a great barrier. What would you rather have on your deathbed? Regrets for what you did, or regrets for what you were afraid to do?"

The candle flickered. There was a knock at the door. "Who is it?" asked Pellew.

"Mr. Hornblower, sir, reporting from the quarterdeck."

The weather no doubt had changed. Pellew glanced at Captain Pownall, but the chair was empty, and the only ghosts in the room were in his own mind and his memory. "Come," he said, as the door opened. He amended it to, "Come in," as Mr. Hornblower entered, his hat under his arm, with seaspray glistening on his hair.

\- end -


End file.
